Wenlock & Essex
Essex Street
N1 8LN


A strange experience and one that I’m in no real rush to repeat.

We were heading to Angel tube station and decided to have a pint for the rails. The door staff asked if we had ID. I’m 41 and haven’t been asked for ID since I was 17. When we said we didn’t we were told that we would have to have our hands stamped and we were asked if we were happy for that to happen – what the fuck were they planning to use? With our hands stamped we were allowed across the threshold. The place was busy and dark. Slimy looking men occupied the majority of the tables and booths. Some women were in attendance but they were greatly outnumbered by men who stared longingly and letchingly. The place felt like a cross between a bad Spoons and a 1970s strip bar. Apparently it’s much nicer during the week. I got a pint of Arbor Breakfast Stout. It wasn’t tasting great. Perhaps because it was supper time and not breakfast time. Or perhaps because the majority of the occupants of Wenlock & Essex had left a sour taste in my mouth. We didn’t linger for a second pint.


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